Witcher School Chronicles- Alchemy
by Fainmaca
Summary: Frederick meets a young mutagenist, a student of the man he helped to kill. As he observes her studies, he finds a strange respect for the young Witcheress growing. Based on characters from the 1st International Season of the Witcher School Larp.
1. Chapter 1

The hot summer sun beat down on the castle's training grounds mercilessly, the adepts going through their exercises sweating profusely under the raw, scorching heat and their instructors' harsh commands. In the distance, Master Toril could be heard barking sharply at her class, demanding that they retrieve her arrows. In another part of the castle, presumably the infamous dungeons, a loud boom echoed out, evidence of Vester's ongoing tutelage of his students.

Frederick watched all of this quietly, leaning back against the cool stone of the castle's walls, finding a slice of shade under the eaves of Kaer Marter. He folded his arms ponderously, golden eyes glancing about. Grunting, he shifted uncomfortably, his chainmail sitting heavily on his shoulders. After a full morning's training in full armour, his muscles pulsed under the tightly-knit metal rings.

Far above, the sun finally reached its zenith, sliding out from behind the castle's shadow and sending a blinding ray of light spearing into Frederick's eyes. The young Griffin School Witcher winced at the sudden brilliance as his eyes, so perfectly suited for the dark gloom of night, found the pure light of day to be almost oppressively bright. He lifted a hand to shield his gaze as a sudden, loud noise drew his attention to the large doors that formed the entrance to the castle.

Master Jaeger strode out of the castle, many of his potential 'Bear School' recruits following closely. Frederick even spotted a couple of Nightsabers in his retinue. The Skelliger Witcher had a determined gleam in his eyes, which normally only meant one thing- a gruelling physical challenge lay in store for anyone the towering Master could get his hands on. Frederick sighed inwardly. Master Dirk's Griffin training was already exhausting. The former mage's apprentice dreaded the thought of partaking in the Bear School's own brand of physical torture, too. looking about, he spotted an avenue of escape- the back door leading into the castle's conservatory, where servants tended to sweet-smelling orange trees throughout the year. Quickly, quietly, the Nightsaber slipped through the doorway unseen.

Inside, Frederick walked almost silently through the castle's dark hallways, taking but a moment to enjoy the sensation of the cooler air moving across his skin. Perhaps he could find a peaceful place within the castle's walls to pass some time.

The young Witcher quickly moved through the castle's dining hall and the tavern, each bustling with an array of servants, adepts and Witchers alike. Far too busy for his liking. In moments, he climbed to the upper floors, passing by the various rooms repurposed into classrooms, the many dormitories and the library, all abuzz with activity. Quiet, peaceful places were always a rarity in Kaer Marter. For a moment, Frederick considered the balconies overlooking the courtyard, but the sounds of Jaeger barking orders at his students on the flagstones below soon put paid to that idea

With a weary sigh, Frederick began climbing to the upper floor, just underneath the roof tiles of the castle. Perhaps he could find an abandoned storeroom to retreat into, somewhere he could finally be alone with his thoughts. He passed by over a dozen crammed rooms, each groaning with the detritus of centuries of occupants coming and going, each leaving its own trail of relics, papers and useless knick-knacks.

Finally, the young Nightsaber came across a door that he recognised, one he had passed through many months previously. He realised that the doorway before him led to a room that had been previously used by none other than Meinard of Mettina, the Witcher performing many strange and unfathomable experiments within. A momentary hesitation seized Frederick, his hand hovering over the door's handle. The old Witcher was dead, yes, but his legacy lived on within the castle's walls. Who could say what might remain within the old laboratory? The Nightsaber shivered, dispelling the thoughts. Meinard was gone. He'd find nothing in the abandoned lab but papers and specimen jars. Taking a deep breath, he gingerly turned the handle, stepping through the unlocked door.

The room beyond was surprisingly clean, not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. Frederick's brow rose at this. Was someone still using the lab? For a moment, an idea popped into the young adept's mind of a still-living Meinard creeping around the castle at night, performing his twisted experiments. Frederick shuddered, trying to shake the haunting thought loose. Closing the door behind himself, the Nightsaber moved deeper into the lab.

A large table occupied the centre of the lab, covered with a large sheet that had once been white, but was now yellowed with age and stained with a variety of colours, one being the reddish-brown of dried blood. A shape, only vaguely humanoid, lay under the sheet, inert. Frederick moved to lift the sheet, but the moment he stepped with a few feet of the table, the stench hit him with as much force as one of Master Jaeger's punches, forcing the Witcher to step back, bumping into a shelf laden with dozens of murky jars, the glassware jangling at the impact. Frederick recomposed himself, turning from the table and moving towards the furthest wall, where a large, round window looked out over the castle grounds. He ignored the smaller table filled with grisly implements that would have been more at home in a torture dungeon, and the desk littered with hundreds of leaves of paper detailing countless biological details that would take a mind of unparalleled clarity to comprehend. Instead, the Griffin adept wound his way through the room, finally finding himself at the window. Noting the sill was clear, the Witcher hopeful clambered up, finding a comfortable sitting position that allowed him to look out of the window at the adepts far below, running about on their countless training exercises.

Breathing deeply, Frederick settled into his new-found niche, leaning back in the cradle of the curving windowsill. he closed his eyes, bringing to mind some of the meditative techniques that Dirk had taught him as part of his Griffin School training. Thoughts of balance, of clarity and serenity, of peace, bubbled up in his mind. As they did so, his consciousness drifted, becoming aware of the larger world around himself. He sighed, feeling every muscle in his body relax a little as he attuned himself to the primal, arcane energies of his surroundings. Frederick relaxed, mind closing to the rest of the world.

The sound awoke him with a start, a sudden creak, followed by the click of a latch sliding into place. The Nightsaber started awake, instantly on alert as his eyes snapped open. Outside, the sun was considerably lower in the sky. what had felt like but a few moments of meditation to Frederick had clearly been far longer, possibly even a few hours. He turned his head from the window, not moving any other muscles as he tried to spot the source of the sound.

A figure moved in the lab, stepping away from the door. A lantern burned in their hand, bright in the gloom of the lab. As the figure stepped forward, Frederick recognised the outline of one of his fellow adepts, the Wolf School student known as Jutte. She had once been a student of Meinard, a deep resentment for Frederick and his fellow Nightsabers festering in her heart, but over time her feelings had shifted, to the point where she had even worked with the Nightsabers, saving Master Elinor's life with her knowledge of potioncraft and alchemy. She had even gone so far as to become part of the Nightsaber group, having found, if not a sense of friendship and camaraderie among them, then at least one of co-operation and mutual benefit. Still, Frederick knew little about her, aside from her cold, calculating demeanour and grim practicality. Barely moving a muscle, Frederick tried to stay as still as possible, pressing down into the windowsill to reduce his profile in an attempt to remain unseen. Jutte paid him no heed, either failing to notice him there, or simply not caring about his presence.

The young Witcheress, clad in a dark red velvet coat that, in the dim light of the lab, almost had the appearance of blood, walked around the large table, seemingly unperturbed by the smell. She grabbed a few pages from the desk, nudging the smaller table with the tools closer to the centre of the room. Absorbed in reading the notes in her hand, she idly organised the tools with her free hand, laying them out in a specific order.

Laying the notes down, the young woman slipped out of her coat, revealing a simple white shirt underneath, a black corset strictly laced around her midsection, emphasising her natural shape. She reached up, brushing a few locks of mahogany hair away from her face. Frederick found his breath catching in his throat. He couldn't deny, the young Witcher was indeed beautiful. Her deep hazel eyes narrowed shrewdly as she glanced about, a long, jagged scar running down the right side of her face. at her breast, her wolf's head medallion gleamed in the semi-light.

Jutte cast her coat on the desk, rolling up her sleeves as she drew close to the table. With a practised move, she whipped the sheet off the table, revealing the shape underneath. A beast, possibly a Fleder, lay on the table, skin bloating a little, one arm and both legs strapped down to the table with thick leather bonds. Something oily coated its skin, perhaps some kind of solution to aid in preservation, giving it a slick sheen. Fangs gleamed from a slack-jawed mouth, while long, serrated claws adorned its hands and feet. Dead, soulless eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling.

Jutte reached out towards her array of tools, still not sparing the razor-sharp implements a glance. Gentle fingers moved towards an array of a dozen almost identical knives, very purposeful in their movements as they selected one specific blade. She lifted the knife before her eyes, thumb delicately testing the length of the edge before gently prodding at the tip until she drew a ruby-red droplet of her own blood. A satisfied nod, and a subtle, upwards twist of her full lips was all the signal she gave of her satisfaction before she leaned over the table, setting to work.

She lifted one of the Fleder's arms, the one not strapped down, her knife slipping beneath the outer layers of the skin around the wrist joint and tracing their way around the circumference of the wrist, making a complete circuit. the merest tip of the blade pierced the skin, gliding through it smoothly to make a neat, professional incision. Rivulets of dark, almost black blood seeped from the wound, staining Jutte's fingertips. Her initial cut done, the Witcheress then did the same thing around the elbow joint, then traced a long, straight line down the forearm on the inside of the wrist, down to the hollow of the elbow. Blood continued to leak from the incisions, collecting in pools on the table. Carefully putting her blade away, the young Witcher student reached down to her belt, pulling a small phial from it. A strange, brown-coloured liquid moved about sluggishly inside the phial, glittering in the light of the lantern. She popped the cork, allowing a few droplets of the liquid to splash down on the incisions. Almost immediately, the bleeding ceased as she put the odd mixture aside, watching the effects with satisfaction in her grim smirk. This done, she set about removing the hide of the forearm with practised ease, clearly no stranger to the procedure.

Frederick knew he should have been revolted by the procedure. Even after month's of training in the Witcher's craft, and having taken part in more than a few dissections, he had yet to be desensitised to the brutal nature of some aspects of their work. And yet, there was something about watching the young mutagenist work that was almost mesmerising, strangely soothing.

Jutte finished slicing through the gauzy membrane that affixed the skin to the muscles of the Fleder's arm, removing a large sheet of grey, leathery hide, almost square in shape. With bloodstained fingers, she quickly ran the flat of her knife across the inside of the skin, scraping away a few stringy remnants of fat and tissue, before turning to the shelf of jars at her back. Sharp eyes quickly scanned the neat labels, until finally she found her prize, a jar filled with a crystalline powder coloured with a mixture of yellow and blue. Unsealing the jar, she swiftly poured a dose of the substance onto the interior of the sheet of hide she had procured, wrapping the hide tightly and binding it with some string. She then carefully placed the roll of freshly acquired Fleder hide aside, presumably to cure for an appropriate amount of time.

The Witcheress moved back to the table, repeating the procedure for the upper arm, and then the opposite leg. Once she had carefully removed the skin from almost half of the beast, stemming the bleeding wherever it occurred using the thick, brown liquid in her phial, she gently, almost reverently returned her knife to its place among its kin, selecting another tool, this time, a long, needle-like awl, with equal care and respect.

Taking the device in one hand, the Witcheress leaned in close to the Fleder, hovering over its now exposed arm muscles. Tender fingers brushed at the bicep, gently pressing into the mottled, red and grey flesh to hold it in place. Then, with the speed and vicious intent of a cobra, the awl darted in, jabbing the muscle.

The reaction was instantaneous. A sudden, low growl ripped from the Fleder's throat as the beast, which Frederick had assumed to be dead up until now, thrashed against its restraints, eyes refocusing as its teeth gnashed in its foaming maw, its free arm slashing through the air wildly. Frederick felt an urge to leap up and dash to the table, to subdue the beast before it could harm the mutagenist, but Jutte was faster, her movements fluid as she responded to the threat. She dodged back, out of its reach, then circled around the table, narrowed eyes watching every move of the beast. Raising her free hand, she murmured a quick phrase, her feral yellow eyes glowing just a fraction more brightly as she cast the Axii Sign, and the Fleder stilled. Jutte moved in close again, this time fastening down the loose arm, then repeating the experiment with less danger to herself. each time she jabbed the beast, selecting a different spot on the flayed arm, she would pause to watch it squirm in agony, then take note of the way it moved, how the muscles responded to the pain reflexes, how the tendons moved as it fought its restraints. Each time she made an observation, she would lean over the desk, calmly writing out her findings in a neat script even as the vampire howled behind her.. Then, she did the same its exposed leg. Once she was done, she put the awl aside, drawing another phial from her belt and forcing the Fleder to drink it. The beast sagged down on the table, still enough almost to be mistaken for dead once again, but a tiny rise and fall of its chest betrayed the vestiges of continued life.

The Witcheress went back to her work, using a variety of tools on her victim as she methodically, meticulously harvested each and every part of the creature, continuing her experiments on the weakening beast. After a time, even Jutte's alchemical decoctions could not keep the life in the monster, and the Fleder finally collapsed with a gasp, the last signs of life draining from it. Once the creature no longer drew breath, Jutte's work became much faster, all while still maintaining the dispassionate discipline that Frederick had begun to admire. All the while, the Nightsaber kept silent, watching her work from the darkening window. He took note of the shallow crease in her brow as she studied the Fleder's fangs before plucking them out. He observed, fascinated, the focused glare in her eyes as she held the beast's heart in her hand, watching its final few beats with as much emotion as she would watch the leaves swirl around in a teacup.

At last, long after the day had fled and the midnight hour had passed, Jutte completed her work, nothing remaining of the Fleder save for an array of neatly arranged jars, a flask for each of the bodily fluids that had been successfully harvested, and a large pot boiling over a brazier that she had lit, every last bone thrown in there to be boiled clean. She turned to the desk, rearranging the notes there before beginning to compile some of her own, quill scratching across the parchment swiftly, but in a controlled manner. Even then, as she hunched over her writings, Frederick couldn't help but admire her air of determined focus, her resolve and her professional aura.

Finally, many hours after the rest of the castle's denizens had turned in for the night, Jutte rose from the desk, leaving the laboratory. Behind her, wreathed in the darkness, Frederick released a quiet, contented sigh as he rose from his little niche, carefully leaving the room shortly afterwards. Quickly, he made his way to his chambers, settling down on the bed with his mind racing, his consciousness dominated by thoughts of a young mutagenist with dark brown hair and piercing eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

The air in the cramped laboratory was still, dry, warm. The thick scent of dust clung to every surface, almost covering over the strong odour of embalming fluids and the acrid stench of decaying meat that drifted from the table at the centre of the room. As Frederick settled into his niche next to the window, he looked up into the rays of light that speared down through the glass to trace a wide circle on the wooden floorboards, noting the motes of dust that flitted through the sunlight like mindless moths dancing around a flame. The Griffin adept relaxed into his usual spot, sighing as his muscles relaxed.

Ever since that first day stumbling across the laboratory, Frederick had taken to slipping away from his studies to spend more and more time here, an inexplicable curiosity drawing him back time and again. He'd spent many an hour observing the Wolf School Witcheress, Jutte, going about her work tirelessly, noting many things about the young woman. For one thing, she was very much a creature of strict routine, arriving at the laboratory at exactly the same time every day, moments after the horns sounded midday throughout Kaer Marter's halls. Moreover, she followed very precise scientific methods in every action she took, from the crisp, neatly written notes she made for every experiment she carried out, to the precautions she took with every test, never handling a specimen without wearing some kind of protective clothing, always cleaning her tools to an almost obsessive level of detail, and repeating every endeavour at least three times to correlate her information. In some ways, she moved almost like one of Master Travis' golems- deliberate, methodical, precise, and yet always it was with a spark of brilliance behind every motion. Everything had a reason, and more often than not the grim smile that crept across her face would betray her success in whatever it was she was trying to achieve.

Frederick couldn't deny it- something about the student mutagenist had grabbed his attention, and he was utterly enthralled by her. Perhaps it was her studious methods, the fact that she was a woman of learning, much like he considered himself a scholar. Perhaps it was the clean, exact way she moved, alertness and sharp insight behind her every choice. Or perhaps it was the wash of mahogany hair, framing olive skinned symmetry, two hazel eyes piercing out into the world with fierce, driven light...

The Griffin shook himself, dragging his mind out of its reverie. Whenever he dwelled too much on those delicate features, troublesome, intoxicating feelings surged in his chest, taking tight grip of his innards. It was a strange, although not unpleasant sensation, but one the young Witcher was not familiar with, and didn't fully understand. He grit his teeth, stamping down on the rising tide before it swept him away.

Just as the Nightsaber managed to still his rising pulse, the door to the laboratory groaned open, shuddering in its frame as it was pushed inwards, allowing Jutte entrance. Frederick slid lower in his hiding spot, making sure he couldn't be seen.

The Wolf School student paced around her workspace, retrieving her customary pair of black leather gloves from their place on her desk. She stepped close to the table, dragging the cloth back to reveal the corpse of a small, misshapen creature that Frederick soon recognised as a Nekker. A grimace of distaste courses across her features as she regarded the beast, sighing as she reached towards her tools. She paused, hand hovering an inch above a wickedly sharp bistoury. She stood stock still for a long instant, before finally sighing.

"You know, if you're going to keep coming back here every day, you might as well make yourself useful."

Frederick flinched as her authoritative tones cut through the silence, her voice strong, but smooth, like fine, heavy velvet. There was a hint of a purr behind those words, the ghost of an accent that the Nightsaber couldn't place. Frederick remained still for a moment, but a twitch of her head in his direction soon proved that there was no hope of hiding any longer. Apparently all those times he assumed he'd evaded detection, the young Witcheress had simply elected to ignore his presence. Maybe she appreciated the company, but more likely it was the case that confronting him wasn't worth her time, and she did not wish to be hassled with the distraction. Sighing, the Griffin adept rose to his feet. Jutte's eye flicked towards him as he moved, but she didn't deign to turn in his direction.

"And, for the future, you may want to get those lungs looked at. You wheeze like a dying drowner when you're not focusing on it." She muttered, selecting her scalpel. "It's likely an aftereffect of the Trials. If they used the lungs of a Foglet or a Mucknixer in your mutations, those naturally generate a lot of mucus, even in dry conditions. It can make your breathing more laboured. A daily mixture of salt, water and some powdered amethyzite crystals from Mahakam should counter it. I believe that Vester has a supply of the crystals."

Frederick felt his cheeks flush warmly at her sharp words. He'd never thought his breathing that loud, but her keen ears had clearly identified his presence. The cold, clinical way she explained a remedy fascinated him, pricking his interest as to what other knowledge she might possess. Curiosity pushed at him, making him wonder what else he could learn if he listened to her. Slowly, timidly, he walked towards her. She clicked her tongue impatiently.

"I've no time for hesitance."

"I don't wish to intrude..." Frederick managed shyly.

"You're only intruding if you interrupt my work." Her words were sharp, her tone like a knife striking at him. "Either assist me, or leave."

Obediently, Frederick stepped up to the table beside her, soliciting an approving nod from the Witcheress. It almost felt as if the young adept had no choice in the matter, so commanding and firm were her words. As he stood beside her, Jutte spared him a sidelong glance.

"Gloves." She pointed to his belt, where a pair hung from one of the many hooks and loops there. "I won't have you contaminate my specimens with whatever grime you've brought in under those fingernails."

Frederick opened his mouth to protest her comments, but she turned away from him without another word, instead rifling through her tool until she found what she was looking for, something that resembled a pair of tongs. She passed them to Frederick.

"Here. When I make my incision into the upper abdomen, I will need you to use these to pull the flesh and skin back. Keep your hands steady. I need unrestricted access to the stomach and lower chest cavity."

A flicker of confused unease flitting across his features, Frederick moved around to the opposite side of the table from her, moving as she dictated. Once she was satisfied he knew what to do, she leaned across the cadaver, delicate, gloved hands carefully feeeling their way across the dead creature's belly until she found the desired spot, bringing the blade of her tool to bear. Her hands moved swiftly, decisively, and the bistoury glided through the tough outer hide of the Nekker in long, fast strokes, parting the flesh with ease. From his closer vantage point, Frederick could now appreciate all the more the Witcheress' practiced, confident manner, the certainty with which she moved at all times. Every cut she made was exact, calculated. A single commanding gesture, and the Griffin adept used his own implements to peel back the skin, exposing the innards of the beast. This done, she set down the bistoury, picking up a glass syringe. She carefully prodded a few of the exposed organs, finally finding what she was looking for- small, almost perfectly spherical sac of some kind, coloured a sickening grey-brown. Quickly, she jabbed the needle of the syringe into the gland, whatever it was, and began to slowly, carefully draw out the viscous, ruby-red fluid inside. A strangely sweet aroma filled the air as she did so, like honeysuckle mixed with poppyseeds.

The sound of crackling glass barely gave Frederick and warning before the syringe in Jutte's hands, about a third full of liquid, suddenly shattered, shard of glass leaping up into the air as the sweet-smelling fluid spattered both adepts. Jutte cursed as the contents of the syringe slopped into the open corpse, mixing with the other bodily fluids in a muddy red wave. A shard of glass, bigger than the others, slipped from between her fingers, slicing open the gland she had been working on. Her hands darted to the burst organ, fingers pinching the opening shut to try and stem the scarlet tide, although rivers of crimson still escaped through her grasp.

"Damn it!" She spat coarsely, twitching her head towards Frederick. "I need to seal this. Find me a cauterising iron and heat it over a candle's flame. Hurry!"

The Nightsaber glanced to the adept's arsenal of tools, swiftly realising that he had no clue what he was looking for. He looked back to Jutte, seeing the almost frantic concentration crossing her features as she tried to salvage what she could from the situation. Knowing he couldn't let her down, an idea surfaced in Frederick's mind. He moved back to the corpse, gently but insistently pushing Jutte's hands out of the way and replacing them with his own. One hand pinched the pierced walls of the organ together, with the other wove a shape in the air, one any Witcher would recognise. As he did so Jutte, recognising the method of Signcasting, lurched forward with a surprised, panicked cry.

"No! You'll incinerate the-!" She managed before Frederick's fingers touched the open edges of the wound. His lips parted, uttering a single, simple word as all of his mind focused on the task.

"Igni." The word was calm, flat, lacking the power that many adepts would put behind the command. But Frederick did not need that kind of urgent, volatile energy. Instead, his focus was far more precise, delicate.

A spark leapt between his index finger and thumb, a flash that flickered once, twice, then flared with bright intensity, a blue, almost white- hot flame hovering between his fingertips. The flame flickered, then elongated, licking at the edges of the opening on the gland. The smell of heated meat, melting flesh, filled the Nightsaber's nostrils, sickening in its stench. Quickly, the grey-brown tissue softened, then thickened, forming a line of hard, off-white tissue that sealed the opening. After perhaps five seconds of quick work, Frederick was finally able to release the organ, the breach sealed. He straightened, turning to look at Jutte. The Wolf School Witcher, meanwhile, looked back at him with a curious eye. Slowly, her arms rose to fold across her chest.

"That shouldn't have worked." She stated flatly. "An Igni Sign should have reduced the whole corpse to ashes. I haven't seen that kind of focused control in Signcraft before. Even a Griffin School Witcher would need years of dedicated training to learn that kind of precision. How do you, an adept, know how to use your Signs in such a way?"

"I don't really understand how." Frederick responded. "They've always seemed to just come naturally to me. I was raised by the mage Travis of Asheberg, but never formally trained by him. Then, ever since the accident, the world has felt... different, I guess. I can almost hear the currents of energy surging through the air, taste them on the tip of my tongue. Makes it all the easier to draw on them for my Signcraft."

"I see." Jutte cupped her chin ponderously, lips pursed. "Growing up in such a magically charged environment would explain a great deal. What was this 'accident' you spoke of?"

"A moment's stupidity that nearly cost me my life." Frederick admitted. "Had it not been for Meinard's intervention, I never would have woken again."

"Meinard? The Witcher?" Jutte's eyes flashed with an unreadable light.

The Witcheress gestured for Frederick to follow her, before turning on her heel and marching towards the back wall of the laboratory. There, she pulled back a sheet to reveal a small cot, littered with papers.

"I keep this here for when my work takes longer than expected." She explained. "If I have to leave a Drowner skull to boil overnight to remove the flesh, or waiting for a Forktail flight bladder to deflate properly, I find it better to sleep close by so I can monitor its progress."

Jutte cleared a space, sitting down on the mattress elegantly, back straight, hands folded in her lap. One hand patted the cot beside her, her expression expectant as she glanced to the Nightsaber.

"Sit. Tell me everything that happened."

It wasn't a suggestion. Frederick meekly obeyed. In moments, the story began to spill from his lips, Jutte listening to every word, her gaze unblinking as she watched his features, analysing him as he spoke. Around them, the laboratory grew dark as the daylight faded outside, the two Witchers oblivious to the passing of time. Night closed in around them.


	3. Chapter 3

"...by the time I woke up, Meinard was gone, and all Travis would tell me was that I had to come here, to Kaer Marter, to be trained as a Witcher."

Jutte sat back, fingers steepled before her face, lips just touching the tips of her index fingers. Her eyes were narrowed in scrutiny, closely regarding the Nightsaber as he related his tale. Her gaze remained unreadable. Ponderously, she cleared her throat, not hurrying to comment. When she finally spoke, her tone was flat, passive, although Frederick thought he caught just the hint of a growl of something else behind it. Some... hunger, maybe? No, curiosity would be more apt. And yet such curiosity sparked in her an almost predatory air, as though the promise of knowledge awakened some instincts deep inside her.

"A fascinating tale." She murmured. "A little fanciful at times, no doubt, but fascinating, nonetheless. I wholly doubt you truly died, or that you actually saw into the arcane realm. More likely you experienced hallucinations brought on by severe trauma to your head, and perhaps an overdose of medication as the sawbones and herbalists set to work on you. It's a mercy that the amateurs didn't kill you before Meinard got to you." She chewed her lip for just a fraction of a second, clearly turning some thought or other over in her mind. In a flash, the contemplative expression, the momentary glimpse into her inner mind, quickly vanished, once again replaced by her normal, impassive exterior. "I have to admit a little curiosity on my part. I wonder what Meinard saw in you. I doubt he cured you out simple of charity. The fact that he requested you come here, that you become a Witcher, indicates that he saw some kind of special potential in you, something that made his time and effort worthwhile. Had you and your damn fool companions not murdered him, we may have been able to ascertain what his interest in you was..."

Frederick flinched at her words, guilt spiking in his heart as he remembered how he had failed to stay his master's hand, how the Witcher of Mettina had fallen and he, too afraid to act, had simply stood aside and let it happen. As the thoughts passed through his mind, so too did a surge of anxiety as he considered that Jutte, once, had been Meinard's apprentice. If she was aware of Frederick's involvement in her mentor's murder...

"Yes, I know who you are, Frederick of the town of Asheberg." Jutte's lips twitched with just a hint of wry amusement. "I remember you walking into the class on that day, with your master and your friends. And I remember how you froze at the exact moment when Njall chose to strike. I wonder if it was fear or reluctance that stayed your hand?" She lifted her own hand, palm outwards, to quell Frederick's explanation. "Honestly, it doesn't matter either way. You aligned yourself with those murderers when you tried to free them from the dungeons, so their sins are now yours."

"Not a day goes by when I don't wish I could take that day back." Frederick muttered sorrowfully. "I'm sorry for what we did. If you want me to leave...?"

As Frederick left the question hanging, Jutte's dark, inquisitive eyes looked the Nightsaber up and down again, measuring him. Once again, her gaze betrayed nothing.

"Truthfully? Meinard's death can be made to serve me just as much as his living. I bear no grudge with you over what you did that day." Her words caught Frederick by surprise. "But Meinard still meant a great deal to me, so do not think you are absolved of your actions." She stood, rotating her head to work the kinks out of her neck. "If you truly wish to make amends, then you can aid in my studies, make yourself useful."

"Anything." Frederick swore, surprising himself with just how much he truly meant it, how powerfully the vow gripped at him.

"Excellent. Then in that case..." Jutte clapped her gloved hands together, the leather slapping loudly in the still room. "I doubt there is much more to be gained from harvesting Nekker parts. The fluid from the thymus was thankfully contained, thanks to your work, so hopefully once I replace the syringe I can collect it safely another day." She stepped over to her tray of tools, inspecting them carefully as she flung her words back over her shoulder. "I want to examine you for any abnormalities, see why Meinard was so interested in you becoming a Witcher. Aside from which, this is a chance to see if your prior exposure to magic has somehow affected how your body responded to the mutations. The table, obviously, is occupied, but this won't be the first time that I've used the cot for my work. It will suffice. Remove your clothes and lay down."

"Wh-what?" Frederick sputtered.

"I don't believe that I stuttered." Jutte turned back to him, eyebrow quirking upwards as she brandished a few small, strangely-shaped and above all sharp implements. "Your clothes. Take them off."

"But I-" Frederick stammered for a few awkward seconds. "I don't... I mean... I wouldn't feel comfortable..."

"Comfort is not a factor of the tests." Again, the Witcheress' features were stony, motionless. "You did say 'anything', did you not?"

Frederick's jaw worked around a few potential protests, foremost being a rising tide of shyness that he was not expecting. But he could see from the Wolf School student's expression that she would brook no argument. Defeated, he relented, unfastening his shirt with a quick motion. Hairs bristled on his chest as the cool air of the lab caressed his skin and sent a shiver running through him. In moments, the boots and trousers followed the shirt, until he found himself standing in the dim light of the room in nothing more than his underclothes. Following Jutte's command, he lay down on the bed. The Witcheress clucked her tongue with a modicum of frustration.

"I did mean for you to remove those smallclothes, too." She grunted. "No matter. We'll get to that part of the examination later."

Jutte strode up to the cot, standing over Frederick as she looked down on him with a calculating gaze. For a long moment, she scanned him with her eyes, taking in all of the scars that criss-crossed his body, the marks and blemishes of his skin, the shape of him. The Griffin student felt strangely like a lump of meat in a market, analysed for any kind of flaw, his value being weighed.

Her initial examination done, the Witcheress knelt next to the cot, laying out the tools in her hands on the white sheet. A hand reached out, still wearing the black leather glove. As she pressed the palm of her hand into the centre of his chest, Frederick felt a shudder course through him, the chill from the cold leather a bit of a shock to him. Jutte frowned as his body twitched.

"Keep still." She instructed firmly.

"It's just cold." Frederick managed as he tried not to flinch from her touch.

The Witcheress tilted her head curiously. Then, keeping her eye on Frederick, she reached up with her free hand and, in a slick motion, removed the glove before placing her hand on his chest once more.

The cold sensation of her touch shocked Frederick once again. Her hand felt like it was carved out of icy granite. But more than that, another sensation coursed through him as her flesh pressed into his own, an electric thrill that he'd never sensed before. He could feel his pulse rise as her long, delicate fingers pressed at his sternum before working their way across his chest, exploring, teasing. He strained not to recoil from the contact. Above him, the Witcheress' lips turned downwards as she regarded him curiously.

"It's not the cold. It's you. You have an unusually high body temperature. You're not running a fever of some kind?"

"Not that I was aware of."

"I see." She bit her lip ponderously. "Then tell me- how do you find the climate here, at Kaer Marter?"

"Well, at the beginning of my training, I found it quite pleasant here. Made the training more bearable. But now, after the winter, everything is so much colder! I guess maybe my time in Oxenfurt over the past few months had made me soft."

"Hmm..." Jutte's gloved hand rose to cup her chin. "No... I don't think that's it at all. It seems as though your body has greatly increased its natural temperature since the Trials. I'd normally suspect Dyfne Fever, or maybe the Ofieri Bovine Pox, but you show none of the other symptoms. If this is the case, then you need more food to give you the energy to keep your body warm than most others, and you are more sensitive to lower temperatures. Ergo, you feel as though the world around you is 'colder' than it used to be."

"Strange..." Frederick mused.

"Maybe not." Jutte's hand remained on Frederick's chest as she spoke. "If you have higher magical potential than most humans, then perhaps this is just a manifestation of a higher than normal energy reserve. Your inner fire is stoked a little hotter than a baseline human, and so after the mutations this difference is exaggerated."

Jutte turned back to her examination, her hand moving across Frederick's chest again. She poked and prodded, testing his pectoral muscles for their consistency, hand moving to the left side, palm flat against the skin. Frederick tensed with every movement, feeling the electric surge coursing through his body at each new sensation. Silently, he bit down on his lower lip with vicious power, the blossom of pain momentarily dulling the intoxicating thrill of her touch.

Oblivious to the growing conflict in her patient, Jutte focused on her task. As her hand slid across his chest, a furrow grew in her brow. She moved her hand to the other side, then back again. With a sudden, swift move, she darted forward to press her ear against his chest, her mahogany hair fanning out in a halo around her. Frederick tensed, pulse spiking as he felt her silken locks brush across his skin, her cheek pressed to his breast. Whatever temperature oddity she had sensed earlier, the Griffin was sure it was amplified fivefold in that moment as his blood pounded through his veins.

"Strange..." She muttered to herself, the movement of her jaw tickling at his skin in a way that made him shiver. "No apical impulse? That can't be... perhaps dextrocardia? If that's the case... maybe situs inversis?"

She reached down to her tools, producing something that looked like a hollow, conical piece of metal, pressing the narrow portion to her ear while she placed the wider part against Frederick's chest. After a moment, she pulled back, a flash of satisfaction in her expression.

"There is a heartbeat there, but it's not in the expected place. Not a full organ inversion, but likely the organs were moved around during your Trial. That has the hallmarks of one of Bastian's Trials."

"I do recall hearing his voice during my Trial." Frederick quashed the queasy feeling that rose in his belly. Just the mention of the Trial brought back many unpleasant memories.

"There you have it." Jutte's voice glowed with satisfied pride. "If he were my student in medicine, I would have some stern words for him about his attention to the finer details. Like where a fucking heart belongs in the body..."

Her hands moved, tracing a line over his abdomen, carefully exploring the contours of each rib, the softening flesh leading into the flat expanse of his stomach, the undulating form of his abdominal muscles. Her fingertips, the glove not yet replaced, ran electrifying lines down his body, teasing and prodding with every inch they ventured across. Her brow furrowed.

"You're not as heavily muscled as the other students. Are you consuming enough protein with every meal? Those are key to enhancing the muscle-building exercises that Jaeger and Issa put us through." She sighed as Frederick could only shrug. "No, that's probably not it. Likely, just like with your body temperature, your body has higher energy demands placed upon it as you summon and channel your magical potential. This could be accelerating your metabolism."

"Is that... bad?"

"In some ways." Jutte carefully slipped her glove back on, more than a little to Fredrick's disappointment. "For one, you'll tire out faster as you burn through your reserves. You'll need to increase your intake to counteract this. Focus on richer foods, meat, eggs, the like. On the plus side, it also means your body will process and absorb or eject certain substances faster. Potions will take effect more efficiently, while poisons will pass through your bloodstream in moments with no effect. If this could be understood, and applied to future subjects of the Trials... it's not so many leagues away from what Meinard was trying to achieve, only far more successful."

She pursed her lips, turning from her 'specimen' to her desk, quickly writing down some notes. She murmured under her breath as she wrote.

"Perhaps exposing our subjects to greater amounts of raw magical energy before the Trial could encourage some mutations that offer similar benefits..." She whispered. "But how? A tincture of Fifth Essence and Arredeinne leaves the night before the Trial? Powdered Leshen bark and amethyst shards? A shame we have no hopefuls ready for the Trials just now, I would like to see what might reap the best results..."

The examination continued on for quite some time in this fashion, Jutte poking and prodding him with various tools, asking a barrage of questions as she worked, barely taking a breath between different actions. Frederick found himself describing his training regimen, his diet, every illness he could remember suffering from, his entire life story in a series of medical facts and figures. Occasionally Jutte would pause to take some notes, but much of the information she seemed to be storing in her head until she was finished with her examination. Finally, she commanded him to sit up, taking something that resembled a magnifying glass and using it to peer inside his ears, then to stare deep into his eyes. As she put the tool away, her brow creased again, her degloved hand rising to his cheek. He flinched, then relaxed as, with a surprisingly gentle touch, she carefully brushed at the angry red scars that reached from his ear across his cheek. For a long, silent moment, her fingers stayed there, before she quickly withdrew her hand.

"Fiend's claws, from the looks of it."

"Yes." Frederick confirmed with a nod. "It was before my Trials. Our first hunt as Nightsabers."

"Even so, a Swallow potion should have fixed that up quickly." Jutte countered.

"Yes, but..." Frederick felt his cheeks flush. "The potions we had on hand had been stolen from Vester's lab, and none of them were labelled. Turned out that the one we thought was a Swallow potion was... something else."

"Then you're lucky to be alive." The Witcheress responded. "Fiend poison, plus an unknown potion from the alchemy lab? Just one on its own should have been enough to finish you off."

"It took a long time for the scars to stop burning." Frederick admitted. "Even now, they sometimes keep me up at night with the pain."

"A Fiend's venom can have some lingering effects, even years later." Jutte explained sagely. "Nothing to be done for that, other than maybe try chewing some Feainneweidd root whenever the pain bothers you. The root can induce a rather pleasant numbness. At least then you won't have trouble sleeping."

"I'll be sure to try it out." Frederick nodded.

"Good." Jutte stood with a sigh, pushing her hands into the small of her back as she stretched. Frederick watched her as her body arched, her throat releasing a low, purring groan. As she turned her gaze back to him, he quickly glanced away. "I think that will do for the physical examination for now. Let's move on to a more practical demonstration. I want to watch you channel some magical power."

"How do you plan to do that?" The Nightsaber asked curiously, rising to his feet.

"How else?" Jutte smirked. "I need to see you cast another Sign."

"Alright... what did you have in mind?"

"No hesitation? Excellent. I prefer it when my specimens are compliant." Jutte commented approvingly. "I've already seen you cast an Igni, but it was under less than ideal circumstances. Perhaps we can test your focus and concentration again?"

The mutagenist turned, gathering up three candles from around the lab, placing them in a row on the table. The tiny flames flickered uncertainly. This done, she turned to face the former mage's apprentice again.

"Let's try an Aard first. Extinguish the flames as best you can."

"All three?" Frederick asked uncertainly.

"If you can." She shrugged. "All at once or one at a time, it's your choice."

Frederick narrowed his eyes, rolling his shoulders as he turned his focus to the candles, wondering how he might meet her challenge. He got the distinct impression that taking the easy route would only disappoint the Wolf School mutagenist. But at the same time, he'd never had to focus on multiple targets at once with the Aard Sign. At least, not in the way she was asking for. It was all too simple to conjure a storm of power, a vast gust that could easily snuff out all three candles at once, but would also whip the rest of the lab into a frenzy, and possibly knock one of the candles over rather than dousing it, risking setting the rest of the room ablaze. The Griffin's eyes flickered back to the mutagenist, realization dawning in his mind. This wasn't just a test of his ability to control his Signs. Nor was it just a way to analyze how much focus and precision he had. She was evaluating him. Watching to see how he would size up his test and meet it. He drew in a deep breath, feeling his ribs expand until they felt as though they would pop. Then, with a sigh, he released the breath and closed his eyes.

The physical world vanished from around him as his lids fell, replaced instead with the far more colourful abstract realm of the arcane. Frederick became aware of the room around him on a detailed, precise level, every wondrous facet clear for him to see. Sparks of energy leapt through the air, errant twitches of magic that formed the background noise of almost any part of the world. He sensed his own body, glowing brightly with stored power, casting deep, dark shadows all around. Next to him, Jutte glowed with similar energy, although hers was far more contained, tightly locked up within the bonds of her flesh. She may have glowed less brightly than he did in that world, but that made her own reserves no less potent. He could feel the iron grip she had over herself, the focusing lens of her mind turning even a small amount of energy into a viable tool in her skilled hands. He turned his mind's eye away from her, looking now to the candles.

The flames burned merrily, no breeze or chill to rob them of their strength. Air moved and shimmered around them, responding to the heat. Frederick focused on that, matching the moving air with that seeping from his own throat as he breathed. In a single, dazzling moment, that air between himself, the candles, Jutte, even the dead Nekker on the table, it all coalesced into a single, continuous whole. Frederick could feel the breath flow across his lips, mingling with the air that surged into Jutte's nostrils as her breast expanded, then moving to swirl together somewhere close to the ceiling. Patterns and pathways emerged. In a flash, Frederick saw the way to achieve his goal.

His hand moved, perfectly tracing the symbol of Aard. As it did so, a small pocket of air gathered in his palm, invisible to the mundane eye. He whispered the command word, feeling the energy within his core blaze and flare in response, granting his gesture that tiny boost of power it needed.

The bolt of semi-solid air leapt from his hand, darting towards the candles. At the last instant, it curved, tracing a serpentine path. It wove between the three flames, so close as to drag them along with it, stretching the long, orange flames into almost horizontal shapes. The hearts of the flames, disrupted by the passing wisp of air, sputtered uncertainly then, one-by-one, flickered out. Fingers of smoke clambered up into the air, dancing their way into Fredrick's nostrils as he lowered his hand with a satisfied sigh. He looked to Jutte, who nodded approvingly.

"Effective. I half expected you to just rush in there with a frontal attack, try and brute force the flames into submission."

"This was more efficient." Frederick shrugged.

"Indeed. It's good to see someone else in this castle with the right priorities." Jutte wrote down a few notes. "I appreciate a Witcher who understands the value of efficiency over showing off."

The experiments continued in this manner for some time, Jutte making increasingly taxing demands off the Nightsaber, and Frederick meeting each challenge and surpassing it. Soon, screeds of notes covered Jutte's desk as she watched him deflect thrown objects with a Quen barrier, reignite the candles one by one by holding an Igni flame between his fingers, and managing to create an aura of slow-moving, sluggish air around himself with an Yrden Sign. As time moved on, Frederick could feel his body beginning to tire, his pulse rising as he called on deeper reserves of strength with little opportunity to rest between each Sign. Sometimes Jutte would produce a device, some crystal suspended in a frame or a silvered mirror or some other unknowable creation, and watch how it responded as he moved the magical energy around. Every response, every twitch, was carefully recorded. Finally, Jutte moved out from behind her desk, still cradling some scraps of paper.

"That's almost enough for tonight." She said, tilting her head to the side until a loud crack escaped from her neck. "We've covered a lot of ground, and I have a great deal to process here. If you would oblige, there is one final aspect of your Signcasting that I should like to see." She paused, just for a moment. "I have yet to see you cast an Axii Sign."

"That will be difficult, without a proper test subject." Frederick countered.

"Then you will just have to try and cast it on me." Jutte shrugged.

"You think that is wise?" The Griffin replied. "Couldn't I corrupt your data, or bias your research?"

"You could." She admitted. "But you won't. I trust you enough to assume you will respect my scientific method, and that you are as keen to learn my findings as I am. I know enough from watching you tonight, Frederick, to see in you the same curious mind that drives me. Perhaps you do not lean towards the same methods of study as I, but you, too, value knowledge and discovery, in your own way. That was why you couldn't resist opening that book in your master's library, why you thought that coming to Kaer Marter and finding the Witcher who saved you might give you some answers about your own experience. So no, I do not think you will harm my studies by casting a single Sign on me. *If* you can actually do it." She smiled, more than a little confident. "I should warn you, my resolve is quite strong, and it's more than apparent that you have used up a great deal of your energy already today."

"Okay. If you're sure..." Frederick made sure not to rise to her bait. After seeing the way she'd tested him so far with his Signs, he quickly realized the deeper intent of her words- the grander scope of her test as she watched for more than just his magical prowess. He was determined not to fall short of her expectations. Instead, he focused his mind, his consciousness sharpening to a blade-like edge.

The Griffin had already touched her mind during the course of his tests, and felt the rigid walls of her restraint. No obvious, brute-force approach would succeed, of that he was sure. He'd have to find a way around her mental barriers. She clicked her tongue, watching him cautiously.

"Forgive me, my Lady." He croaked, shaking his head as his hand moved in a broad, expansive gesture, fingers outstretched. "I just need a moment to focus. The Axii Sign requires a certain connection between target and caster that can take a little focus to create." His eyes locked with her gaze as he explained himself. "I wonder what exactly your observations are about me? I mean, you're standing there, writing all these notes on my abilities. Who knows what you might be noting down? You could write my name, and what exactly you think about me, both as a test subject and as your fellow Witcher. What personal thoughts might have spilled out onto your page? I wonder if maybe you'd like to look down at your hands, Jutte."

The Witcheress quickly glanced down, starting as she realized that her hands were moving, almost of their own accord, scratching hasty, scrawling letters on one of her pages. In a moment, she stopped, hands clenching tight to quell the muscle impulses that ran through them. She glanced back up at Frederick, the ghost of an amused smile tugging at her mouth.

"That was underhanded." She grumbled, although it was clear that her irritation was only a result of begrudging respect, not frustration. "Well done for sidestepping my will. I didn't expect you to insert your suggestion into a flowing conversation like that."

"The Axii Sign has most in common with the element of Water." Frederick explained. "A flowing river doesn't just push a boulder along its course. It flows over it, around it, then rolls it along, using its own mass to help propel it further. I simply apply the same method when using my suggestions."

"A good analogy, and an interesting theory." Jutte nodded. "In theory, you could potentially subvert any will with such a strategy."

"In practice, not quite. Some wills are just too deeply rooted to move. For example, suggesting something that goes utterly against one's character, or telling them to harm someone they care about. You may as well try to turn a mountain on its head."

"I admit, I was expecting you to try something lewd, such as to convince me to grant you a kiss or some other perversion." Jutte's lips twisted in distaste. "Almost every student I have tested in this way has gone down that path."

"I know that wouldn't work on you, Lady Jutte." Frederick shifted on his bare feet, growing awareness of the chill in the lab creeping across his still exposed skin. "You are strong, both in mind and body. You'd only fight such a suggestion, and it would be doomed to fail."

"Hm." Jutte released a slightly surprised grunt. "Thank you. I... appreciate you recognising that."

"If I may, Jutte, could I look at what you wrote?" Frederick asked cautiously, stepping towards her. "I'm curious what I managed to trigger."

Jutte paused, looking down at the scrap of paper in her hand. Hesitation seized her for a long moment, just a shade of colour filling her cheeks before she sighed, passing the paper to the Nightsaber.

"Here. I suppose you've earned at least a glimpse." She relented, turning back to her piles of notes on the desk. Frederick graciously accepted the sheaf, glancing down at the hastily written words.

"Fredrick of Asheberg..." He muttered as he scanned the words. "Surprising magical potential. Dedicated, loyal and principled. Intelligent, but lacking in wisdom. A tendency towards brash and foolish choices when under pressure. A good man. Nice beard and a- really?"

"Enough!" Jutte barked sharply as a grin crawled across Frederick's features. "I can appreciate things that are pleasing to look at, you cannot mock me for that. So wipe that stupid smirk off your face! You look like Reinicke on catnip."

"As you wish, my Lady." The amused drawl in his words earned him a heated glare, but Jutte said nothing. Instead, Frederick moved back to the cot, gathering up his clothes.

The Griffin slipped the shirt and trousers back on, glad to finally be done with the tests, at least for the time being. He glanced out the window, noting the low moon.

"The hour is quite late." He sighed. "We should both return to our dormitories. I don't want to face Jaeger's training tomorrow without at least a few hours' sleep behind me." He finished fastening the last button of his trousers, turning to leave as he spoke. "So, unless you have anything else you need from me, my Lady, then I think I wil-"

He stopped abruptly as a strong hand grabbed his arm, squeezing the bicep tightly. He turned to find Jutte standing next to him, looking down at the floor with an expression he never expected to see gracing her features- uncertainty.

"You... don't have to leave, if you do not wish to." She spoke stiffly, the words awkward in her mouth. "I was planning to spend my night here, sleep in the cot. There's room for two, and the night is only going to get colder as it progresses."

"I would be honoured to keep you company, if you wish it." Frederick quashed his surprise, and the rising excitement that gripped hold of unexpected parts of him. He felt a little tremble of something that resembled nervousness shiver through his core. Jutte sensed it, her expression hardening, all signs of vulnerability quickly vanishing behind a solid wall.

"I am offering you a place to sleep, nothing more." She snapped, voice sharply defensive. "Do not get any ideas of me opening my legs for you, Nightsaber!"

"As you, say, Lady Jutte." Frederick quickly, humbly replied. "I wouldn't dream of trying anything without your express desire and permission."

"Good!" She retorted quickly, before her voice softened. "That's... good."

"Shall we?" Frederick gestured towards the cot. With a silent nod, Jutte led the way.

In moments, the pair had settled down on the bed, still mostly clothed. Jutte curled up beside Frederick, arching her back to press against his chest and belly, her hindquarters tantalisingly close to his crotch. Frederick wrestled with the myriad biological impulses that fought for control of his body, eventually gaining mastery over them as he carefully, gently placed an arm around her, holding her close. The scent of her hair filling his nostrils, the warmth of her body flowing and mingling with his own, Frederick waited a few long minutes until her breathing slowed, moving into a steady, rhythmic pattern that broadcast that she had fallen asleep. Then, still caught off-guard by the sudden turn of events, Frederick slowly drifted off to join her, an unfamiliar electric warmth filling his chest. In the silent, cold confines of the lab, the pair fell into the peaceful embrace of unconsciousness together.


End file.
